


Winter's Ray

by Elise_Arveldis



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 'What if?' Alliance, AU, Blood of The Wolf, Cliche Plot, Elia Martell Twin, F/M, Martell/Tyrell, Second Son of Olenna Tyrell, Unbowed Unbent Unbroken, Warrior - Freeform, Winter's Coming, growing strong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 12:12:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15841065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elise_Arveldis/pseuds/Elise_Arveldis
Summary: One shot: Robb Stark enraptured with a Tyrell, changing the start of the 'War of the Five Kings'.





	Winter's Ray

A small figure bumped into him. Instinctively, he caught her shoulders to steady her balance. The lady in his arms, dressed in green and blue, looked up with startling green eyes. “I apologise, Lord Stark. I did not mean to bump into you.”  
Robb paused in his reply, as he took in her countenance and figure. She was very small, he noted. An embodiment of a gentle lady with her cheeks blushed as it was, and a body so enticing to protect and safeguard.  
“This no trouble at all, Lady?” He let go of her, to take her hand for a customary introduction. As she introduced her name, Robb could not help the floral fragrance to his olfactory senses. A type of flower, with a hint of herbs and parchment. Her softness sent him aching. Something in his depths stirred, calling for a primal response. Lady Reylyn must be the scholar type he thought.  
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Reylyn. May I escort you to your destination?” Robb Stark may not have much experience with women, but this particular lady...he wanted to prolong contact as long as he could possibly make it.  
“That would be appreciated kindly, Lord Robb, for I do not quite remember how to get to the Hall. But please just call me ‘Reylyn’ or ‘Lyn’ as my friends do.”  
Raising an eyebrow, the lordling grinned as he began to guide her. A perfect opportunity to tease. “Then it was very fortunate that you came upon me, Reylyn, for you were going in the opposite direction! And, why, that was very forward of you, for are we not just acquainted? Who is to say that we will become friends?”  
Reylyn smiled coquettishly at him through a side profile. “Well, I will be staying for a few moons as part of the King's entourage. I would think that becoming comfortable with Winterfell would be a prerogative to cope being away from home. And who knows, maybe we will be more than friends…”  
He grinned, “Then freely call me Robb.”  
“That's settled then, you will be more than a friend. You are now my new best friend!”  
His deadpan look must have been comical as she lead the childish trap masterfully. ‘What a cheeky minx!’  
Walking through the threshold, the sun's rays were blocked, and the muted voices began to louden as they made their way to open seats. As he seated her, he couldn't risk the temptation to graze his knuckles along her collarbone. A beast inside howled in triumphant, as she rewarded him with a slight shiver and more flush to her cheeks. He could see that Reylyn tried to lessen their interaction, as she looked away and began conversing with guests across the table. Being that it was a crowded hall with the visit, he had no other reasonable justification, to seat himself close to her that their thighs touched.  
Robb Stark felt as if he needed to get a handle on his person, as he began to be intoxicated with the presence of a lady he'd only known, not even half a day.

 

As the days passed, Robb sought out Reylyn frequently: First, like a boy with his crush, which soon developed to an alpha male who sought his match in a person he grew to love and yearn.  
Reylyn felt reluctant at first, not wanting to tempt Fate of keeping her far away from the only home she's known. However persistent and cloying it felt, Robb Stark was an honourable sweetheart who slowly broke her barriers. And soon enough, he not only began to learn of her family, her likes/dislikes and her aspirations, but she also began to learn of him. Though occasionally she'd see a metallic glint, sharp as Valyrian steel, sending a look of promise. What promise? She knew not from experience, but of what she’d seen in her visits to Dorne. It left her flushed and yearning for something Grandmother made sure she reserved until marriage.  
A friendly touch at the shoulders moved to her waist as days passed. A small smile from her, turned into radiant beams whenever he came into focus. All could see the developing relationship take place, and none could dispute the fact that the Rose may grow strong not only in the South but mayhap the North as well. One, Sansa Stark, found it very romantic - her dashing brother who could do no wrong, courting a fine Southern Lady to take as wife. Arya Stark, however, did not see the same appeal. Instead, the youngest female Stark thought it was shameful how the girl fell into the old time’s machination of becoming the gentle lady to her brother's lord warrior.  
Something both girls did not understand, however, was how unlike a fairytale their relationship was shaping to be. For as much as his Reylyn was a proper lady befitting her position, there laid a dominating strength in her small fragile body than he has ever seen in other females - not even in his sister, Arya. For though she may seem meek, he grew to learn of her sly witty wordplay when conversing with others, especially other misogynistic men which sadly, included her uncle. For though she looked weak, he found out first hand how vicious she could be with a staff and daggers, and how strong she was with her intellect. Sansa and Arya may think her to be a perfect example of a Southern lady they loved and loathed, but her exposure to her most beloved cousin, Willas, (and the Martells of Sunspear), had shaped her to become an unassuming, independent and resourceful person of her own rights.  
Yes, the young wolf has found himself a match worthy of the North, worthy of the blood of the First Men which courses through his veins. Nothing will stop their claims. He was adamant at that.

 

“Robb. Uh- w-we should stop, Robb.” He enjoyed her sounds too much to stop. They were currently in his chambers after yet another Feast the King insisted upon. The fire was crackling at the hearth, casting a much-needed warmth for the cool night at Winterfell. It was also setting a great ambience for their current dalliances.  
As Reylin leant back on the two-seater couch, Robb held her body down with one hand at the hips, whilst holding her neck barred to his ministrations with the other. He kissed and suckled with near urgency, along the column of her throat and open chest, occasionally falling into his primal urge to bite hungrily. Relyn felt her temperature increasing with not only the heat of the fire across them but also the heat exuding from Robb lighting her own, as he took her body as theirs. No longer hers alone.  
With every bite, small teeth marks indented themselves along her skin, and a whimper would fall from her mouth. Each time, the silver of his Tully blue eyes would increase with an ancient glow, and a rumble would fill the room quietly.  
Reylyn felt a pooling between her legs, and she felt her breasts begin to ache. She began to wiggle beneath the muscular figure caging her down, and a prominent leg wedged itself between her pair, leading her to rub her heat against his thigh. A coil tightened at her belly, and she needed something to fill the gap she suddenly became aware of. She whined at him, her hands grabbing onto the lapels of his shirts. Whether to push him away or bring him further to her, was questionable. He answered her calls by undoing the top of her dress, (conveniently held together at the front by buttons), and began a feast of his own through the blouse of her chemise.  
The slightly rough texture of his beard, made itself known through the fabric, as he sucked and pulled at the throbbing, sensitive tissue. As her areolas were given attention, one by hot mouth and the other by thumb, electricity jolted from her breasts to the vacancy she felt below, tightening the coils. She wanted more. “Oh.. P-pl-please Robb, more!”  
As his fingers continued, his head looked up into her wanton face to send a roguish smile. “Tell me that you are only mine. Made just for me as I am for you. You are mine. My mate!”  
“Oh lord, I’m yours, Rob-” She was silenced with a searing kiss.  
The hand that previously stayed at her waist, moved downward as he shifted over her. Soon enough, his entire body was flushed against hers, though he kept manipulating her breast. His right hand shifted lower until he met a concealed slit of her dress, only to go under, where it hooked beneath her thigh to rub against her soaking slit. His long, calloused finger continued to reach upward for that spot.  
She didn't know what she was feeling. She fought a little against him, afraid of the coil that was tightening. But he kept pushing, and her struggles only served to further her stimulation. He swallowed her cries to stop, as he took her beyond the stars. He adjusted his position as he continued to take from her, as fingers brushed aside her covering, and filled her delicates with a finger. His addiction drove to fill her with more, and soon, Reylyn became mindlessly dazed as he brought her off the precipice a second time with two fingers buried within, and a third where three fingers sought the spongy area deep within her.  
“You are mine now, and I am yours. It doesn't matter if we are not married until tomorrow.” The wolf said huskily.  
She could only whimper in return and lay her head on his chest as he turned them around. She was soon in the world of dreams with her wolf watching from her shadows.

~Letter~

To My Lords and Ladies of Westeros,

This missive is to announce the joining of House Stark and House Tyrell as of the eighth day of the eighth moon of the year 278 AC, in the presence of his Royal Majesty, King Robert Baratheon the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.  
Firstborn of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, and Lady Catelyn Stark nee Tully, Robb Stark the Heir of Winterfell wed Reylyn Eliara Tyrell, lone child of the late Lord Harlen Tyrell and the late Lady Isla Tyrell nee Martell.  
May the union be blessed by the old gods and the new, just as the maternal families of the bridegroom have given their blessings. Lord Oberyn Martell attended on the behalf of Prince Doran the lord of House Nymeros Martell of Sunspear, and Heir Edmure Tully came on the behalf of his father Lord Hoster of Riverrun, Lord Paramount of the Trident.

~End Letter~

“Grandmother, Father, Uncle, as we are all family, Robb and I have agreed that our alliance must gain its strength. We are four great houses of Westeros, and with the Lannisters secretly in rule, we have built several contingency plans shall anything befall our families. We do not feel comfortable in assuming that Lord Tywin nor Queen Cersei will leave us to our own devices.”

The Red Viper grinned with pride at his niece as she spoke her words, however, a glimpse at her good-father elicited him to speak, for Ned Stark’s grim countenance made to speak against these ‘contingency plans’ in loyalty to his good friend, the King.  
“That is a marvellous idea, what are these plans, my dear?”

As the plans were unravelled, deconstructed to be made more inconspicuous, the future of the North seemed bright as the young couple made grounds for its safety and the safety of their families.

~Year 279 AC~

“Robb! There’s a missive from Uncle Oberyn and I’m afraid that its contents will break your father…”

Robb read embraced Reylin as she began to shake like a leaf. He offered her comfort as his warmth seeped through the cold to settle her bones. As he cupped her face, he brought their foreheads together and said, “We will get through this together, no matter what. I will be there with you to show him the letter.”

Knock, knock, knock.

“Come in.” the authoritative baritone of Lord Stark reverberated through the oak door. 

As the two walked into the study, they remained quiet in anxiety over the upcoming reaction. What will they do, having been informed of the current events transpired down South?

“A letter from the Martells, Father.” The letter was transferred to hardened hands.

As Ned Stark read about Oberyn’s hunt in the wilds of Sunspear, steel grey eyes stiffened as the page began to crinkle.

“...I swore it must have been my pinky which made me miss my mark, for my arrow missed the golden pelt of a mountain cat, and I instead had to hear some Lyssani bastard telling tales of a stuffed great eagle he caught with red snapper. He was so prideful about his acquisition, that I believed he had tears…”


End file.
